


Cherry Bomb

by tinzelda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday Fluff, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Wartime, steve's birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9212060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinzelda/pseuds/tinzelda
Summary: Even during the war, Bucky makes sure Steve has a memorable birthday.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poppyfields13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppyfields13/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, [poppyfields13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppyfields13/profile)! I present a fluffy fic to help you celebrate.
> 
> Thanks to Pharis for the super-quick, last-minute read the night before I wanted to post!

Bucky was late. Nobody was talking about it, but from the surreptitious glances Steve kept getting from all the other guys as they set up camp for the night, he knew they were thinking about it too. They just didn’t want to talk about it. Steve hated that his worry was so obvious.

Morita pulled out the cooking pots, but it hardly mattered whose turn it was to make dinner. All they had left was beans, and no one was such a lousy cook that he would screw up opening a few cans and dumping them in the pot. They would head back to the base for supplies and their next assignment in the morning—or after Bucky returned, though Steve didn’t like to think he’d be so long that it would delay their departure—but for now, they were stuck with what they had.

They ate without enthusiasm, just shoveling the beans into their mouths to fill their bellies. Steve was halfway done when he noticed Gabe’s head jerking upright. Did he hear something? Could it be Bucky? Steve was on his feet, peering through the trees, before Gabe spoke: “Isn’t it the Fourth of July?”

Morita left off spooning up the last few beans from the bottom of pot. “Is it?”

“It is,” Dugan said. “The goddamn Fourth of July. How’d you forget a thing like that, Cap?”

Steve forced a smile and shrugged. He hadn’t forgotten. Not really, and it had added to his rotten mood that Bucky wasn’t around. It was stupid and childish, but Steve couldn’t help it.

He didn’t expect presents or cake. But Steve had always had a little something special for his birthday. There were some particularly memorable days, like the year he turned ten. His mother had scrounged up enough extra cash for three fares to Coney Island. It had been nothing but swimming and a meager picnic on the beach, but Bucky had been with them, grinning, his cheeks sunburned. And even once Steve and Bucky had been on their own and too broke for luxuries, Bucky’d always done something to mark the occasion. Even the year when he worked practically all day at the restaurant, he snuck out after the dinner rush, and they climbed up to the roof just as it got dark to watch the fireworks over the river.

Last year, Bucky’d been in Georgia—he’d just gotten promoted to Sergeant and was getting some kind of special sniper training with a bunch of marines—but he’d made sure to be there for Steve’s birthday in spirit. Bucky’s sister had shown up at the apartment just as Steve got home from work, her mischievous blue eyes so much like her brother’s. She’d handed him a small box with a note on top in Bucky’s handwriting: 

_Celebrate your birthday with a bang. —B_

“Aren’t you gonna open it?” Becky said.

If he’d been on his own, Steve might have waited. Just seeing Bucky’s handwriting and knowing he’d worked with Becky to plan this—he must’ve sent the note weeks ago to make sure that it got to New York in plenty of time—was present enough for now. Steve would rather have stretched things out, waiting until the next day to actually unwrap the package.

But Becky was watching expectantly, so Steve tore open the paper and lifted the lid. Inside was a cherry bomb. The string wound around it was a faded shade of red.

“Let’s light it,” Becky said.

“What, now?” Steve resisted the urge to hide the present behind his back.

“It’s what Bucky said to do.”

So Steve followed her out to the alley and watched her strike the match against the side of the box. The flickering fuse reminded Steve of all the fireworks Bucky’d lit over the years—Steve wasn’t allowed because his mother thought they weren’t safe. After the cherry bomb exploded, Steve and Becky stayed there for a long time leaning against the building. The bang echoed in Steve’s ears. They didn’t say much more, but it helped to have her there, to know that she was thinking of Bucky too and missing him just as much as Steve.

Well, almost as much.

Afterwards, Becky dragged Steve back to the Barnes house for dinner. Mrs. Barnes made a big white cake—she must’ve used a month’s worth of sugar rations to do it, but they always treated him like one of the family. As he dug into his second piece of cake, Steve realized what Bucky’s real gift had been: he hadn’t wanted Steve to be alone on his birthday.

Even if Steve could never have what he really wanted from Bucky, it was good to know he cared.

Shaking off the memories, Steve got to his feet. He was going out to look for Bucky. It was stupid to just sit there. But as Steve turned away from the fire, he saw movement far off in the trees. Relief flooded through his limbs, and he watched as the vague shadow solidified into Bucky, striding confidently through the woods towards them.

When he stepped into the circle of light around the fire, Steve noticed the two dead chickens dangling from his right hand before getting distracted by his radiant smile. Steve was grinning back before he even thought about it. “Do I want to know where you got those?”

Bucky’s grin grew positively wicked, and Steve’s heart skipped about seven beats. Then Bucky threw the chickens down by the fireside and said, “You sure don’t. But dammit, you can’t eat _beans_ on your birthday.”

“It’s your birthday?” Gabe said. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Dugan started laughing. “You’ve gotta be kidding me—the goddamn Fourth of July?”

Five minutes later, Dernier and Dugan were arguing about the best way to fry a chicken. Neither of them knew what the hell they were talking about, but they were enjoying the fight. Falsworth and Gabe poked at the carcasses, pulling a few feathers off here and there until Morita growled something about _city boys_ and picked the things up by their creepy clawed feet, carrying them off into the trees to clean them properly.

Steve just watched. He knew he must look like an idiot, with a big goofy grin on his face, but it felt like a celebration. Of course it did, now that Bucky was back.

Steve turned his head and found Bucky watching him, smiling too. He jerked his head to the right, then took off in that direction. He didn’t even look over his shoulder, knowing Steve would follow.

Once they were a few hundred yards into the trees, Bucky stopped, and Steve stopped right next to him. A little too close. He should have taken a step away, but he didn’t. Instead, he took a deep breath, leaning forward, pulling in hints of Bucky’s pomade. His soap.

It was harder for Steve to ignore the way he felt about Bucky now than it had been back when he was small. Even out in the field, where it was hard to keep clean, Bucky always smelled great, and when it came to Bucky, with the serum-improved vision—all his senses were heightened, really—Steve had the appetite of the Big Bad Wolf. _The better to see you with. The better to smell you with._ And the serum had made Steve’s libido a hell of a lot stronger too.

He took a shuffling step backward.

Bucky pulled a little package out of his pocket and held it out. It was wrapped in a handkerchief and tied with a shoelace.

“Aw, Bucky, you didn’t have to—”

“Shut up and open it.” Bucky shoved the present into Steve’s hands.

Steve pulled off the shoelace and fabric and stuffed them into his pocket. Inside the battered cardboard box was a cherry bomb. It was a brighter red than last year’s. He grinned at Bucky. “Where the hell’d you get it?”

“It wasn’t easy, let me tell you.”

“You could’ve gotten Dernier to make you something.”

Bucky made a face. “Where’s the fun in that? Here, lemme light it for you.”

Bucky grabbed the cherry bomb out of the box and trotted a few yards away. He arranged it upright on a fallen tree trunk, nestling it into a knothole. After he lit the fuse, he ran back next to Steve, standing so close their elbows knocked together.

The fuse burned all the way down, and Steve held his breath, but it didn’t explode even when the flame disappeared into the sphere.

“Maybe it’s just damp.” Bucky bit his lip. “Maybe it’ll still go.”

Steve turned to look at him, and all the anticipation—waiting for the bang, waiting for _years_ to build up the courage to tell Bucky the truth, or just throw caution to the wind and _kiss him_ —it filled Steve’s chest, choking his throat so that he couldn’t say anything.

Several seconds ticked by before Bucky’s shoulders slumped.

“Well,” Steve said. “It’s the thought that counts.” Bucky smiled, but Steve could tell it was forced.

As Bucky turned away, he let out a grumble. It was half under his breath, but Steve heard every word. “Yeah, I’m full of thoughts that’ll never do anyone any good.”

Bucky liked to joke around, and he was sarcastic all the time, but there was something in his words—his tone—that struck Steve as strange. He didn’t understand, but he wanted to.

“What does that mean, Buck?”

Bucky had already turned away, heading back to the fire. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“No, really.”

“It really means nothing,” Bucky called over his shoulder. “I’m just mad the cherry bomb’s a dud. C’mon, will ya? Before they eat all the chicken without us.”

“Bucky, wait.” Steve ran after him, reaching out and catching a handful of Bucky’s jacket. To get him to stop, Steve tugged hard and heard Bucky’s breath catch. Steve’s heart started pounding.

“Bucky?” Steve planted his feet and pulled Bucky a little closer—it was still strange being taller—but Bucky turned his face away. His breath was coming in quick little panting huffs now—he was nervous—and hope was surging up in Steve’s heart, threatening to spill over into action.

“C’mon, Buck.” Steve was careful to keep his voice soft and quiet. “What is it?”

Bucky looked up. They were standing so close that his face was only inches away from Steve’s. “I just wanted you to have a nice birthday.”

“It is nice. It’s the best birthday ever.”

Bucky let out a disdainful snort, and Steve almost laughed, but he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs to do it. He bent his head, though he knew it was stupid. So stupid, but he couldn’t resist. Not with Bucky looking up at him like that, his hand on Steve’s shoulder in a death grip. Steve leaned down and pressed his lips to Bucky’s.

Bucky made a noise, deep in his throat, and shoved up close, his arms twining like vines around Steve’s neck. His mouth moved under Steve’s, his lips parting and his tongue darting out. Steve couldn’t catch his breath. His dick was instantly hard, caught at an awkward angle in his boxers, but Steve ignored the discomfort and pressed closer, just to feel Bucky’s chest heaving tight against his.

That’s when the cherry bomb blew—just a whizzing hiss and a muffled pop—but it was enough to trigger their soldiers’ reflexes. The noise sent them both to the ground. Bucky fell half on top of Steve—still trying to protect him, the stupid bastard, when Steve would heal in no time at all from a little thing like that—and they stared at one another in shock before busting out laughing.

Bucky had a smear of mud across his cheek and chin. Steve reached up to wipe it away, but Bucky didn’t give him a chance, ducking down for another kiss. Steve clutched at Bucky’s head and imagined his heart swelling up with happiness until it burst with a bang far louder than the damp cherry bomb.

A shout from the direction of the campfire warned them that the other guys had heard the fireworks and were coming to investigate. Bucky grimaced, but he gave Steve one more desperate kiss before rolling off him and jumping to his feet.

The second round of dinner seemed to go on forever. The fried chicken was burned and what beans remained were cold, but Steve was too distracted to taste it anyway. Dugan passed around his flask, and Falsworth gave a long-winded toast. Every time Steve dared to look at Bucky, he was already staring at Steve—except for the one time he was looking at their tent. It made Steve think of what they might do later. They’d have to be quiet. They’d have to be _silent_ , but it would be privacy of a sort.

When Dugan started singing— _singing_ , for God’s sake—Steve was afraid the evening would never end, and apparently Bucky felt just as impatient, because he stood up and grabbed Steve’s arm, pulling him to his feet. “I’m taking the birthday boy to bed.”

Steve’s face flamed hot with embarrassment, but no one seemed to notice in the flickering firelight, or to think twice about Bucky’s words. They called out their good nights and went right back to the song. Bucky nudged at Steve until he slipped into the tent, and Bucky crowded in behind him, carefully tying the flap closed.

It was dark in the tent—too dim to see Bucky’s face. Bucky was just a darker shape against the shadows, but he grabbed Steve’s shoulders and gave him a hard kiss. “Maybe they’ll keep singing, but we still have to be careful.”

“I know,” Steve whispered. “I know.” He reached out in the darkness, his hand finding Bucky’s knee. He let his fingers slide up Bucky’s strong thigh, and Bucky let out a groan. Steve muffled the sound with another kiss.

Suddenly Steve was being pushed back—Bucky tackled him, and Steve went gladly, falling flat on his back and pulling Bucky down on top of him. At first it was awkward: Bucky’s chin bumping Steve’s forehead, and when he shifted his weight he almost kneed Steve in the crotch, but then his legs fell to either side of Steve’s, and they slotted together just right.

Even through Bucky’s clothes, Steve could feel the strength of his body, and he shoved his hands up under Bucky’s thick jacket to feel the muscles shifting over his ribs as he ground his hips down, rubbing his dick right up against Steve’s through the layers of cotton and wool. Steve wanted to pull Bucky’s clothes off, to feel his warm skin, but he couldn’t let go of him to do it—wouldn’t stop kissing him.

Bucky shifted his body, pushing up with both hands. It meant Steve couldn’t reach him for more kisses, but it changed the angle of his hips, and Steve moaned at the added friction. He grabbed Bucky’s hips and thrust up against him. Another groan escaped from Steve’s chest, and Bucky let out a breathy laugh. “Ssssh, Steve, you gotta—”

His words choked off when Steve started moving faster under him, then he fell flat, kissing Steve fiercely, but not moving otherwise, letting Steve push up against him until he was shaking, coming hard, his fingers gripping Bucky’s legs where they straddled him.

Bucky gave Steve a split second to recover before he started moving again, licking and biting at Steve’s neck as he rutted against Steve’s thigh. Steve grabbed his head for a kiss, fucking into Bucky’s mouth with his tongue. Bucky came with a groan, shuddering with aftershocks for a long while, with Steve’s arms tight around him.

*****

It was still dark when Dugan’s gruff voice shook Steve out of a deep sleep. “Sorry, Cap, Sarge, but they want us back at base.”

Steve shook his head to clear it. “What time is it?”

“Just past eleven. You’ve only been asleep a coupla hours.”

Bucky made an incoherent sound that somehow still communicated a question.

“They didn’t say why,” Dugan continued. “Just want us back on the double.”

Bucky groaned.

“We’ll be out in a sec,” Steve said. “Will you wake the others?”

“Already on it.” Dugan’s heavy boots strode away.

Bucky snuggled closer to Steve’s side with a sigh. His lips brushed Steve’s ear as he whispered, “I thought we’d have time to go again. Maybe get naked this time.”

Steve didn’t answer. Instead, he rolled onto his side, pushing his hips forward so Bucky could feel his dick straining against his fly.

Bucky snickered. “You too, huh? God, I can’t just get up, not when you’re—”

Steve cut him off with a kiss. Bucky’s hand clutched at Steve’s ass, and they ground their hips together before breaking apart, breathless.

“We gotta go,” Steve panted out.

“Yeah.” But Bucky’s arms were still wrapped around Steve’s body.

Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s. “ _Bucky_. . . .”

“Yeah, okay.” Bucky stole one last quick kiss, then pulled away.

Though neither Steve nor Bucky was much help in packing up the camp, the others were efficient. Within an hour everything was piled into the truck, and they were on their way. Bucky was next to Steve, their thighs pressed together.

After they’d been on the road for a while, the others were starting to drift off. Bucky snaked his hand under the cover of the knapsack on Steve’s lap to weave their fingers together. Steve grinned at Bucky, squeezing his hand tight.

“What the hell are you smiling at, Rogers?” It was obvious Bucky had to work hard to sound so grumpy, because he was fighting a smile himself.

“Just happy it’s my birthday, I guess.”

The End


End file.
